Desperate Scam. September, 1975: Huntsville, AL

Driving with Rick across the breadth of Southwest United States was intense. We were both determined to reach the Southeast rapidly. I was headed to Gainesville Florida, he to Gainesville Georgia. I wanted to get to my sister’s house in time for my birthday. I do not know what propelled Rick. He had a camper on the back of his Pickup that had a bunk, cooking facilities and a small table. Sometimes, we both shared the cab and could converse, otherwise one of us would drive and the other in back resting. We both seemed to be carrying the same types of food, namely, oatmeal, coffee, and sugar. The difference was I had powdered milk and avocadoes, he had real milk in a cooler. We agreed to use his milk in the oatmeal, my powdered milk in our coffee. He did not like avocadoes and we agreed to not touch the remaining Coors Beers I was bringing to David, my sister’s husband. I was light on money but Rick said he had enough for gas. As long as I could share the driving we would stay on the road.
In the midpoint of our second night we ran into some trouble half way through Arkansas. One of his front wheel bearings was making a loud squeal and showed signs of not being able to hold up much longer. I wondered the significance of a second wheel bearing going bad on this leg of my journey. Fortunately, we happened upon an all night truck stop having a garage which could affect a repair. Unfortunately this dipped into Rick’s cash reserves to the extent that we might not have enough money for gas. After getting under way, I pondered a solution. One that sprang forward was a tinge illegal but seemed workable. I suggested that in the morning we go into a small county seat so I could apply for food stamps. We could show the cooking facilities in Rick’s truck as home. If this worked, I would barter the stamps for gas, not quite what they were intended for, but a possible way out.
Before morning we pulled into the town square in Huntsville, Alabama. Rick slept in back, I dozed in the cab. Warmth and bustle of mid morning woke me and I found the Food Stamp office across the square. Leaving Rick to his slumber, I went over and began the process of applying for food aid. The woman handling my case was friendly and quite willing to accept my story of living in a camper. Apparently that was not unheard of in these parts and she did not even ask to inspect my facilities. However, she did ask where I was camping. There happened to be a large scale map of the county posted on the wall in her office. Upon hearing her question I leapt up and peering at the map, hastily pointed to the location of my fictitious campsite. She looked where I was pointing and quickly stated,” Oh, that’s Lester’s property. He shoots folks who trespass out there.” Immediately, I rescinded my request for stamps and announced, “Wow, then I guess I better be leaving this county and heading back north.” She agreed that would be a good idea. I returned to give Rick the flat news of my failure to scam food stamps.
After a few moments Rick hatched a scam of his own. He had been holding a quantity of “Black Beauties,” a form of speed that was popular with truck drivers. He figured on heading over to the nearest truck stop and dealing enough of these to gain gas money. I felt bad he had to part with his stash and I was not able to help. However, we drove to a nearby trucker’s haven and it took him no time to find a willing customer. Before long we headed out to finish the last leg of our cross country dash.

©